


Grown from the Bean

by NoStringsOnMe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStringsOnMe/pseuds/NoStringsOnMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with coffee on a cold day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grown from the Bean

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this tumblr post: http://voodooling.tumblr.com/post/102576455614/i-want-a-stucky-au-fic-where-bucky-works-at
> 
> I should have put that up initially but I'm still working out how to use the site so didn't know how to at first!

Bucky checked his watch and cursed under his breath. He was going to be late if he didn’t step on it. This morning’s alarm hadn’t quite been loud enough to wake him on time so he’d had to skip breakfast. Again.

Wind cut through the street, numbing the tip of his nose. For a moment he thanked his lucky stars it wasn’t raining too.

A painful rumble twisted though his stomach and with a groan he pushed through the door of nearest coffee shop. There wasn’t a chance in hell he would get through his shift without something in his belly. Plus he had a funny feeling it would be a busy day, what with the holidays coming up.

Thankfully it was still early and there was no queue inside. Bucky bounced up to the counter and greeted the guy behind the counter, Steve according to his name tag, with a cheery smile. Steve was a small guy, narrow in every way with a mop of shiny blonde hair and the biggest bluest eyes, he’d seen outside of a Disney movie.

“Hey there! Double shot cappuccino please,” he quipped. The guy smiled shyly as he marked the cup.

“Sitting in or taking away?” he inquired softly, glancing up at him.

“Taking away.”

“Cool, and any syrups?” Steve looked up at him intently, waiting for an answer.

He was about to say no but then he changed his mind. “Um . . . Hazelnut?”

“You don’t sound sure, I can give you a run down if you want?” Steve said brightly, catching Bucky’s eye again and holding the contact with the sweetest smile.

“Naw don’t bother. Hazelnut is perfect.”

Steve nodded and told him it’d only be a minute. Checking his watch again, he bit his lip; time was going to be tight. But then his stomach growled again and he decided it was still going to be worth it. He would take the wrath of his dick of a manager would just have to deal with him being slightly late if that’s what happened.

“Here ya go,” came Steve’s chipper voice, proffering him the ‘to go’ cup with a cheerful smile. “Sorry for the wait.”

“Hey, no problem pal,” he replied taking the cup, his fingers brushing by Steve’s which seemed a lot colder than they should have been for working in a warm coffee shop.

“You have a nice day!”

“You too!” Bucky called over his shoulder as he hurried from the blessed warmth of the shop and back into the cruel wind.

The coffee was deliscious, the perfect balance of everything, and it warmed him straight through but only before scalding his mouth, leaving his tongue tasteless and feeling three times its usual size. People had started to fill the streets in a mid-morning rush to buy some presents, so he knew the shop would be busy when he arrived.

Bucky stood outside his work, another chain coffee shop, to down the last of the enemy’s brew. It was only as he was about to toss the cup into the overflowing bin next to him that he noticed the little drawing on the side. It was a little drawing of him done in the same cheap black marker used to mark what the customer wanted. There wasn’t any doubt it was him; it had the same jaw and bed head. Same everything. He was smiling and written above him were the words, “Come back soon!!”

Surprise etched itself across his features before melting into a fond smile. How sweet. Good way to get customers to come back too. Which couldn’t be that hard seeing how satisfied that coffee had left him feeling. Bucky stowed the cup in his shoulder bag, it was too cute to throw away.

***

People were crammed into every available space. The rain had finally arrived and Bucky could hear it banging against the window while he cleaned the back counter of coffee granules. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, he was still soaring on his caffeine high from earlier on and his mouth still tasted sweet from the syrup. Happy chatter bubbled around him and all in all he was in a fantastic mood.

The bell tingled signalling someone coming in.

“With you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” Bucky called over his shoulder, wiping the last of the granules into his hand before shaking them into the bin. He turned and was met with a pair of larger than Disney sized blue eyes and a mop of blonde hair. “Oh hey! It’s you. Didn’t think you’d be able to come in here. Isn’t it against the rules?”

The smaller man smiled ruefully. “Isn’t that a little bit hypocritical?”

Bucky shrugged and grinned cheekily. “Touche. So what can I get ya?”

“Espresso . . . actually can you make it a double, eh, to go?”

“No problem.”

“The coffee here is better,” blurted out Steve all of a sudden, making him go a little red.

“I’d be inclined to disagree with you I’m afraid,” whispered Bucky conspiratorially, grinning. “But let’s keep that our little secret.”

And that made Steve laugh.

As the coffee machine made the shots, Bucky turned his back and scrawled a tiny stick man on the side of the cup and wrote, “Can’t draw but don’t be a stranger” next to his pitiful drawing. When he passed over the cup Steve noticed the drawing straight away and laughed. It was a nice laugh, a laugh full of life and appreciation for the gesture.

“It’s a masterpiece!” he cried, shook his head and lifted one tiny hand as he turned to leave as a goodbye.

***

Bucky was in a good mood for the remainder of the day which meant his shift flew by and before he knew it he was back out in the cold. The city was decorated to the nines with Christmas lights and just down the street there was a brass band playing Christmas carols. He smiled to himself as he hurried home, head bent against the howling wind; the rain having stopped a little before he left.

Once back at his apartment he booted up his laptop and settled down for a long night of essay writing for the deadline of his online English course. Around half way through he dived back into his shoulder back in search of a cereal bar which he was sure was lurking at the bottom somewhere. Instead of the intended snack Bucky’s hand came out clutching the empty to-go cup with his little line portrait. With a smile he placed it somewhat proudly on the shelf above his computer.

“Who’s the Picasso?”

Bucky twisted round to see his roommate, Natasha, leaning idly against the doorway, munching on an apple.

“Guy at the coffee place drew it for me this morning,” he replied honestly, a smile creeping up on his lips.

The redheaded woman raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly.

“How cute. Does he take requests?” she asked as she wandered into the bedroom and flopped down onto Bucky’s bed.

“Why yes, of course Natalia, you can come in. Make yourself at home why don’t you,” Bucky said dryly, giving his roommate an indignant look.

She waved him away and settled back on his pillows and continued to eat her apple, staring at the ceiling. Bucky rolled his eyes and tutted softly but turned back to his laptop.

“Classical, dubstep or shuffle?”

“Classical.”

And so the two of them spent the rest of the night in companionable silence; one steadily typing out line after line of analysis and the other with their eyes closed and swaying gently in time with the music.

***

“Well you gave me a giraffe yesterday, how about a zebra today?”

Bucky was leaning over the counter, trying to see what Steve was going to draw today but he’d turned away ever so slightly from the taller man. The marker was held carefully in his long fingers and his narrow features were etched with concentration.

“Are you determined to have the entire Serengeti on your shelf?” he asked, passing the now full cup of coffee over into Bucky’s eager hands.

Bucky stuck his tongue out and inspected the little drawing; he’d given him a herd running together.

“Aw this is amazing. Again! If this what you can do as a sketch I can only imagine what you can do in your art classes,” he mused, the last part was more to himself than Steve.

It had been a few weeks since the initial portrait on a cup and Bucky had found himself going into the coffee shop where Steve worked more and more before his shift to get his daily caffeine fix. And as the weeks slipped by it only had a little bit to do with how much he liked the coffee. Most days he’d try and go in a little early, hoping he’d arrive when the shop was quiet just to give him a little more time to draw something.

Then Steve would return the favour later on when he finished his shift. At just after four most days, when the shop was at its quietest, he’d appear, leaning up on the counter, and get his double espresso before dashing off to his art classes lugging a portfolio case the size of him. Bucky tried to repay the favour by scribbling interesting quotes on the side of the tiny cup but Steve never hung around long enough for him to see if he liked them or not.

“The “real” art is about at that level to be honest,” said Steve quietly. “As in, not that good.”

“Now we both know that’s not true,” countered Bucky quickly.

A soft red flush rose in his cheeks as he spoke. He must have felt it because suddenly he was busy cleaning the counter he’d just been cleaning when Bucky had first arrived. He studied him intently from behind his cup while he took a long draft of the sweet coffee. Steve could have only been scrapping 5 foot 1 and looked like he weighed about as much as the ragdoll Bucky had given his friend's daughter for her 6th birthday. His face was pinched, like he was used to not eating, and there was more than a passing resemblance to a bird but he had those huge, blue eyes that were full of kindness and a mouth used to smiling.

“Maybe . . .” he eventually muttered before adding in a louder voice, “Are you not going to be late again if you don’t leave, James?”

“Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me Stevie,” teased Bucky. Steve made a shooing gesture with his cloth but he smiled all the same. “Alright! I’m going, see you later! I have a good one for you today.”

***

‘How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.’

With a grin, Bucky handed over the cup. Steve smiled back and their fingers brushed ever so slightly. A shot of warmth spiralled up through Bucky’s arm at the unexpected contact. Steve waved and called goodbye, the huge portfolio tucked awkwardly under one arm. Bucky watched him leave, the sleet had started early and it splattered against the tiny man, getting stuck in his blonde mop. He smiled to himself and hoped his, friend? Wait, could they be friends? They hadn’t actually talked properly. He decided to settle with ‘artistic exchange partners’. Well, he hoped his artistic exchange partner liked today’s quote.

***

The shelf was becoming crowded. Cups of all shapes and sizes cluttered the shelf above his computer. To the left he had the Serengeti, to the right he had the city skyline and some roller skating girls and right in the middle was his portrait. He added the zebra herd to the collection.

“And you’re keeping all this rubbish, for what reason exactly?”

Bucky spun around in his chair. As usual there was Natasha leaning against the door, arms folded and one eyebrow arched at his collection of to-go cups.

“There is such a phenomenon of knocking you know,” Bucky said, hoping he could avoid answering with a witty remark.

“I am aware; I just prefer to ignore it when it comes to you Barnes. So you going to answer me or not?”

She sauntered into his room and sat on his bed, leaning back on the heels of her hands. Bucky shot her a begrudging look. Nat returned his gaze with her head cocked and her eyes silently demanding an answer. Was there anyone who could say no to this woman? He really didn’t think so.

“Because I like them.” It was an honest answer, she couldn’t deny him that. But then he added somewhat more light-heartedly, “Plus, if the guy gets famous, look who’s going to be rolling in it with so many original sketches.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Nat muttered and lay back amongst the pillows as usual. “If it’s all the same to you we’ll be listening to Eurotrash tonight.”

Bucky smiled fondly at his roommate and pressed play on the cheesiest playlist of Eurotrash he could find and began his night’s course work, only ever so slightly jealous of her regular working hours at the post office.

***

Bucky checked his watch and frowned. It wasn’t like Steve to be late. It was quarter to five and his shift finished at four _and_ he had class today. He’s been extra prepared today and had the cup ready under the counter. His co-workers teased him about it no end but he just tried to ignore it, as good natured as it was.

Auto-pilot took over as he served the few customers that drifted in out of the grim, grey day. He wondered what was keeping him seeing as it wasn’t like he hadn’t been at work that day. There was a cup with a picture of Steve on it in his bag.

But he needed have worried because Steve came barrelling through the door and slammed down the money for his usual coffee on the counter. The smaller man had a face like thunder and he was shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

“What’s up, Stevie?” Bucky asked, pressing the coffee granules and locking the handle into the machine.

“Manager wants to cut my hours,” he fumed.

His mouth was pressed into a tight line and there were lines pinched around the outsides of his beautiful blue eyes. His white knuckled fist rest on the counter.

“What did you say?” the bigger man asked. He didn’t want to pry but curiosity got the better of him.

“Told him I needed the job to pay for my classes and if he cuts my hours then I’d have to find a second job which I can’t do because I have classes in the spare time that could be used to get a second job.”

His rage was white hot. It radiated off him in blistering waves. Bucky handed him the cup but before he could offer words of comfort Steve had turned and stormed from the coffeeshop with only a bruised goodbye. He tried not to let it sting. Dropping his eyes from Steve retreating back, he hoped his rage wouldn’t make him throw his cup in the bin before he saw today’s scribbling.

***

“A watched phone never rings,” Natasha stated as they sat at the kitchen island sharing a pizza.

Bucky grunted and pressed a button to make his phone light up. Nothing. Frustrated, he nudged it away with his elbow and bit down into his slice. Natasha’s eyes were trained on him, assessing his every move but all he wanted was the phone to ring.

Perhaps he’d been too forward? Besides it wasn’t like they knew each other that well. Sure they chatted but it was only ever so ten minutes at a time, when their shops were quiet but for each of those ten minutes everything was easy. And there was something compelling about the tiny artist; the creases between his eyebrows and purse of his lips as he concentrated on the morning’s drawing, the delicate way he held the thick marker and made it dance across the cardboard but it also so much more than that. He was quiet, reserved and self-deprecating but Bucky felt like he learned so much with every throw away comment; about his optimistic world view, about his sense of justice and desire to do good in the world and about his fierce loyalty to his friends.

The news usually played on the TV in Steve’s coffeeshop and most mornings there’d be something terrible happening in the world and Steve’s face would fold into a frown and he’d made a comment, complaint or criticism on whatever it was. And Bucky wondered idly if he himself ever gave such interesting insights into his own life with each of their interactions. He doubted it which just made it even more uncertain that his phone would ring.

“Oh my God, Barnes, just stop,” cried Natasha, snatching up Bucky’s phone.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing!” Bucky shouted, springing to his feet and trying to reach for the device. “Natalia Romanoff, you give that back right now.”

“Oh are we going by full names are we now, _James Buchanan Barnes_?” she asked dryly, putting his phone into a pot and putting the pot into the oven.

“Nat, please?”

She had planted herself in front of the oven. He wasn’t getting it back. Even if he picked her up to move her she’d tackle him to the floor in a heartbeat. With a sigh Bucky sank back onto his stool and propped his elbows on the marble effect island top. He considered giving her the puppy dog eyes but when had that ever helped his cause? Never. That’s when.

“Now we’ve got that sorted, we’re going out tonight.” She moved back to her own stool and smiled properly.

“Are we?”

“Yup, our good friend Mr Stark has a party which we are warmly invited to attend. So cease your brooding and put your glad rags on.”

Bucky did so with only a minimum of grumbling at having his phone taken off him like a child and forty minutes later they were sitting in the back of a taxi in their nicest smart-casual clothes, speeding towards the high-end part of town.

“Do you think I overstepped the mark?” he asked the red headed woman to his left.

The worry was still niggling at him.

“Bucky,” said Natasha, placing a hand lightly on his should. “I love you to moon and back, we’ve been to the end of the world together and I still bear the scars from that time you dropped me when we were kids”- Bucky’s eyes dropped to the faint white scars on Natasha’s chin and he tried to stop himself from grinning-“but if you don’t get your get out of your arse then I’ll personally beat you with your own left arm.”

“Nat, c’mon-”

“Don’t ‘Nat, c’mon’ me Barnes,” she chided punching his shoulder lightly and settling back in her seat. “The poor guy is probably up to his ears in job applications so he can work out a way to keep up his classes. Give him a chance to get his head on straight.”

Bucky had nothing to say to that. He slumped back and berated himself; Steve had more important things to be worrying about than a John Updike quote and his phone number scribbled on the side of a coffee cup.

“How can you always be right?” asked Bucky as he watched the traffic lights turn from red to amber to green.

“I just am. It’s a natural talent,” Natasha remarked, bumping his shoulder with her own. “Buck up Barnes, we’re almost there and we have to enjoy ourselves. Them’s the rules.”

“That was a truly terrible pun.”

“I know.”

The party actually turned out to be a lot of fun. All of their friends were there and Tony had put on quite the spread. There was an open bar too that Bucky took full advantage of and plenty of good music to dance to. He could be seen for most of the night in the middle of the dance floor; spinning and dancing wildly with a tumbler of rum in one hand. It definitely succeeded in making him forget about giving Steve his number. Although by the end of the night he was more than just a little worse for wear.

“You’re embarrassing, Barnes, you know that right?”

“Yuuuuus!” he slurred happily, stumbling through the door of the flat and out of the support of Natasha’s arms.

It had to be close to 5:30 in the morning. The first rays of morning sun were a long way from arriving but city was still abuzz with activity.

“Let’s put you to bed,” Nat said sleepily, guiding him towards his bedroom and the soft warm of his bed.

Bucky fell face first onto the mattress. The twisted and turned high above him in dizzying circles. A soft clink signalled a glass of water being placed carefully on the bedside table and a click was of the door closing. A dopey smile hung itself on Bucky’s face as his eyes drooped and he fell off the edge and into sleep.

***

It wasn’t that the hangover was bad, it was headpoundingly, shaking to your bones bad. Bucky dragged himself to the kitchen still wearing the, now badly crumpled, dress shirt and jeans from the night before. In fact, he was still wearing his shoes and whether that was a good or a bad sign he didn’t care to examine too carefully. It was too painful a train of thought.

Natasha was already up, dressed in gym clothes and had her hair up in a ponytail. She fixed her clear eyes at the dishevelled heap that was her roommate and silently handed him a cup of coffee. Bucky took it gratefully and savoured the bitter taste. Hungover was the only time he ever drank black, sugarless coffee.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the gym but I can see the answer to that already so I’ll see you later, I have a kick boxing class with Clint,” she said, just a little too loudly.

With a wave of her fingers she swept from the room.

From the depths of somewhere, there was a ringing. Bucky frowned groggily and tried to work out where it was coming from. What was it? It was like it was ringing from the bottom of a linen cupboard and from under all the linen.

Oh.

It was his phone.

His phone was in the oven.

Slowly, he slide off his stool and moved around the island and sank to his knees in front of the oven. With thick fingers he pulled the door open and scrabbled for the pot, wincing at the metal on metal sound that screeched through the kitchen as the pot bumped against the shelf. Another clang and he had his phone in his hand. But the call had already rung off.

In a matter of swipes Bucky saw he had a missed call and a message from an unknown number.

_“I was promised literary quotes any time of the day if I called this number. I’m disappointed James. Steve.”_

Bucky just about keeled over in shock. He’d replied.

Clambering to his feet, Bucky tried to regain his composure but it hurt too much so he settled for a heavy exhale and rubbing his face with his free hand. It didn’t do much. He called the number back.

The protracted beeps stabbed him right where his hangover hurt the most but he gritted his teeth and soldiered on until:

“Hello? James?”

“Steve? Yeah, hey! How you doing? Sorry I missed your call my roommate put my phone in the oven and I forgot it was there and yeah, so now I’m calling you back but that’s obvious and, uh, well, hi.”

Bucky inwardly cringed. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he have no filters? Apparently not when hungover.

Steve just laughed happily.

“I won’t ask why your phone was in the oven.”

“Yeah, best not,” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So, are you going to make true on your promise and give me all the literary quotes I could ever want then James?”

“Oh, call me Bucky, everyone does. I meant to say before but forgot.” While staring at your face, he added mentally.

“Bucky? Where did that nickname come from?”

“Would you believe me if I told you my middle name is Buchannan?”

Bucky moved towards the window and looked down at the street that was crawling with people rushing to wherever they needed to be. A smile broke across his face when he heard Steve laugh again; it was a sound he felt he could listen to all day.

“Sounds like a family name,” Steve mused over the warm hubbub of voices in the background of the call.

“You’d be right,” he confirmed, leaning his forehead against the cool glass.

“So, Bucky,” he drew out the name as if savouring the sound. “Hit me with some quotes. I need inspired. What’s your favourite?”

“’The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell and a hell of heaven.’ It’s from Paradise Lost,” he said after a moment’s thought.

Steve made an appreciative noise. “I like that one. Makes me think you’re a worrier.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong with that one,” laughed Bucky, thinking back to the night before and his obsessive phone watching.

They chatted easily for a while. It was the longest they’d ever managed to speak to each other uninterrupted. The conversation was light; Bucky told Steve about the party and his friends, Steve told Bucky about all the jobs he’d applied for so far, including but not limited to: shops bars and even a few newspapers as a cartoonist.

“So I’m hoping to hear back from them soon because otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do about my classes.”

“‘Virtue is bold and goodness never fearful’,” Bucky blurted out, upon hearing Steve sounding so dejected.

“I – eh – What?” Steve asked, clearly confused by Bucky’s interjection.

“It’s, eh, a Shakespeare quote or, um, translated into Barnes that would roughly mean, ‘Don’t give up just yet’. Did I mention I’m a dork?”

Bucky hoped his self-deprecating humour would endear him enough for Steve to overlook his blunders.

“You’re an odd, odd, man,” chuckled Steve. “But that did make me feel better.”

***

Bucky looked from the cup in his hand to Steve, back to the cup then back to Steve and then back to the cup again.

“Anyone would think that you were feeling a bit down about the job hunt,” stated the brunette tentatively, gesturing to the to-go cup in his hand that had a dejected self portrait of Steve with a sign reading, ‘will do anything for money’.

The smaller man shrugged and made a face that twisted his narrow features into a grotesque mask for a brief second. Bucky wanted nothing more than to vault the counter and pull him into a bear hug but refrained as he was pretty sure it was frowned upon.

“I just haven’t heard anything back from anyone yet and I’ve lost count of how many applications and CVs I’ve sent out,” Steve said.

He shrugged again and glanced up at the news and his face fell even more.

“Don’t ya just wish people could get on? Oh, you should get going, you’ll be late otherwise,” Steve said, making a shooing motion towards the door.

“Time flies and all that, see you later. Hope you like Oscar Wilde!” Bucky gave him a two fingered salute and what he hoped was an encouraging smile before pushing out into the street.

He hoped that that things would turn around soon for his friend.

***

After work Bucky had planned to go to the library downtown to finish up on the last few pieces of coursework before Christmas but when he arrived and pulled out his books he knew his heart just wasn’t in it. He contemplated called Natasha to see if she wanted to get dinner but then he realised it was one of her kickboxing days and she wouldn’t miss training with Clint. He scraped a hand through his hair, pulling through some knots, and wondered what to do.

Then he decided to message Steve. He surely would have finished his class by now.

_“On a scale of one to ten how stressed are you?”_

_“A solid 8.5.”_

_“How about a drink to distress? I know a great place.”_

_“Sure. I’m up to my eyes in applications. Could use a distraction.”_

_“Meet me in 20 at The Dancing Monkey.”_

***

“No, come on, I can’t do that!” Bucky cried, looking in disbelief at the smirking face of Steve Rodgers next to me.

“Yes you can,” he teased. “It’s easy, you just sit there and I draw your pretty little face.”

They were sitting in a booth in the corner of the bar. It was all dark woods and low lighting. Only a few people were there, talking over their beers. Steve and Bucky were sitting close to one another and Steve was giving him his best winning smile.

“Less if the ‘pretty little face’ and I’ll consider it,” Bucky chided bumping the smaller man’s shoulder.

“Don’t be a punk.”

“Don’t be a jerk.”

The two men tried to keep straight faces but laughter swept over them. They shook, bending towards one another. This was the closest Bucky had ever been to Steve, he could pick out every little detail of his features; his clear blue eyes, the freckles dotting his nose and the way his long lashes cast spidery shadows over his sharp cheekbones. He was really quite beautiful.

“So will you do it” asked Steve, “I’ll pay you if you want, I mean I don’t have that much between classes and living but-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there. Of course I’ll do it. I was only kidding before,” replied Bucky. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. We can do it here if you want or is the lighting . . .?”

He narrowed his bright eyes and scrutinised Bucky’s face the way the light hit it. With his lips pursed he whipped out an A4 sized sketch book and some pencils.

“Here should be fine, there’s some nice light and shadow in here in fact.” His voice was distracted, almost far way and his eyebrows had already creased as he slipped into the zone. “I need you to hold very still.”

So he did. He moved where Steve told him to move and held still when Steve told him to hold still.

After twenty minutes he couldn’t resist asking:

“I expect this to end up in a museum you know with a fancy guilt frame.”

“Shush, and if you’re really lucky then maybe one day it will. Or at least in the Senior Year Expo in February.”

“At least, the fame and recognition I’ve always deserved.”

“You’ll be a household name.”

“Yeah but if I’m a household name then you will be too.”

Steve laughed and shushed him again but Bucky was sure he saw a pink flush rising on his artist’s pale cheeks.

Bucky settled back in the booth and was on his best behaviour for the remainder of the hour. Every so often Steve would murmur an order or made a comment on how the picture was going. He handed out sparse compliments like how much he liked Bucky’s jaw or nose or hair. Brow furrowed he concentrated deeply on the task at hand.

After an hour Bucky’s phone buzzed.

“Do you mind if I get this?” Steve just grunted as a response; he was in the zone well and truly. “Hello?”

“I thought you said you were going to the library.”

“Hey Nat. No, I gave up. I’m at The Dancing Monkey with Steve.”

“Tut tut. Anyone would think you were leading that poor boy astray.”

“Steve, am I leading you astray?” Another grunt. “You hear that? Steve doesn’t think so.”

“Of course he doesn’t. Should I expect you home at all tonight?”

“Shut up. I’ll see you later.” Bucky hung up and rolled his eyes.

Steve no longer seemed to need him to stay perfectly still so Bucky relaxed and watched his friend work. Perhaps  another twenty minutes later Steve looked up and turned his pad towards the bigger man.

“What do you think?”

It was a stunning likeness that took Bucky’s breath away. The level of detail was incredible; he could see the muscles in his jaw and the shadow of stubble, there was his chicken pox scar under his right eye and the delicate lines around his eyes and on his forehead.

“Wow . . .”Bucky didn’t know what to say. “You – you’ve been holding out on me.”

“I guess you’re right,” Steve chuckled.

His whole being seemed to light up from the inside and his face split into a huge grin. The yellowy light of the bar added a warm glow to his face. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Two pairs of blue eyes gazed at one another for what felt like a million time longer than the few seconds it actually was. But the moment broke all too soon, covered with sheepish smiles and awkward laughter.

Bucky shifted in his seat, every single part of him felt warm, even his _hair_ felt warm. Every part of him was aware of the man at his side and that, now, their knees were touching.

“Would you . . . would you want to sit for me again sometime? Or pose for photos? I’ve just had an idea that I think I can use,” Steve inquired softly, looking up at Bucky from under his long lashes.

This time Bucky knew he wasn’t imagining the blush that had crept up on Steve’s pale cheeks.

“If you don’t want to I totally understand, so absolutely _no_ pressure,” he added quickly, backtracking when Bucky didn’t immediately reply.

Those Disney eyes were impossibly wide but then he dropped them to the table and bit his lower lip; a gesture that jolter Bucky’s stomach into doing painful backflips.

“Sure, I’d love to,” Bucky said simply, bumping Steve’s shoulder gently and hoping his voice didn’t betray the chaos he was feeling inside.

Steve lit up like a Christmas tree and his face looked like it was going to split in two from the size of his smile. He must have really thought that Bucky would say no.

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

“If you’re not careful your ego may smother you.”

“Not to worry pal. So long as I have you and Natasha I can assure you that that won’t happen.”

***

“‘Shoot for the moon because even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.’ Bucky, why are there post-its stuck all around the flat?” asked Natasha, dangling a neon yellow post-it note from her right index finger.

Bucky turned towards the redhead, who was leaning against his doorframe and holding out the bit of paper towards him, and he at least attempted to look sheepish.

“It’s so I can remember them for Steve’s coffee cup,” he admitted.

“You’re disgustingly cute,” said Nat.

She pushed off the doorframe, walked towards her now very red faced friend, pressed the post-it to his forehead and lay down on his bed.

“I was thinking old school jazz tonight?”

“Sounds perfect. Can I request Dean Martin’s entire catalogue?”

“Of course.”

***

Christmas slipped by without much stress. Bucky and Natasha spent Christmas together as they had always done; they were the closest thing either of them had to a real family. Any semblance of family had disappeared over the edge of a bridge in a tangle of burning, twisted metal too many years ago. So the brunette man gave the redheaded woman  a CD of Russian folk music and a new pair of boxing gloves with her initials sewn onto the cuffs in red thread and the redheaded woman gave the brunette man an anthology of Carol Ann Duffy poems and a dapper silk tie. They ate together before settling in front their television to watch the Christmas programmes, leaning against one another – a warm, safe bubble against the world.

***

“So when is your next day off?” Steve asked, hovering at the end of the counter while Bucky prepared an order for the pair of girls who had arrived in the shop and interrupted their conversation.

“Uh, Sunday,” Bucky replied, steaming the milk.

“Brilliant. Okay, so I’ll meet you in the main square at ten?”

Bucky grunted in response, distracted by the order.

“Have a fantastic day,” he called to the girls, giving them a bright smile before turning his full attention to Steve who was fluttering at the end of his counter, hands wrapped around his coffee cup that bore a quote from his new poetry book. “Ten at the main square? Got it. Anything I need to bring?”

“Just yourself and your usual charm.”

Bucky shot his friend a cheeky grin. “So you think I’m charming do you?” He added an exaggerated wink for good measure.

“Devilishly so,” he replied with a surprising amount of confidence which did funny things to Bucky’s body temperature. “You have a good day. Try and keep the heat in, it’s supposed to get colder today.”

“Could say the same to you, if your hands get any colder they’ll fall off.”

Steve just smiled airily and waved away his concern; the usual reaction. Steve was always “fine, just fine”.

He watched him leave for his shift, their roles reversed for once; Bucky had been given a rare early shift and Steve a late morning one so they had co-ordinated accordingly. Once he was out of sight Bucky tried to shake the feeling in his gut. It was the urge to be close to Steve, to hold him, to make him smile, to feel his cold fingers brushing stray hairs from his face, to be close enough to count the dusting of freckles on his nose. Or not even that. Just to sit, legs tangled, on the sofa and hear him talk about his art and about how he would change the world if he could. Any type of closeness would suffice.

But he had to keep his distance. He knew that.

He acted the right parts and hoped he acted them well enough.

***

“Okay, so what are your favourite things to do in the city? Because I want a picture of you in each of these places. Or some other significant place,” Steve instructed, his mouth muffled from the scarf covering the bottom half of his face.

The day was bright, cold and thankfully dry. They were both wrapped up in as many layers as was humanly possible. Bucky savoured it because Steve had warned him he’d have to shed some layers for the pictures. All around them the city bustled with life, people dodging around them with hard, emotionless faces.

Steve had instructed Bucky to just walk to where he wanted to go and he would follow with his huge camera. Every so often he would drop a few paces back but Bucky never turned around; another instruction but he could just make out the click of the shutter. If the photo was of him then Steve didn’t say.

There was no chatter between them as they walked the city streets, only a companionable silence. Bucky led them out of the centre and towards a quiet area in the West and eventually came to a stop outside a sandstone building.

“What’s the story?” asked Steve quietly having seen the sign.

“This was home after my parents died,” replied Bucky looking up the second floor window at the right and pointed towards it. “That was my bedroom window.”

“It marks where my life actually started. Was too old to be of much use for adoption so me and Nat stuck it out till we could move out,” he expanded with surprisingly little emotion in his voice.

“How long were you here for?” Steve asked hesitantly from behind his camera.

“Too many years.” There it was, the hint of sadness he had tried to keep away.

Bucky dropped his eyes to the ground and closed them for a moment as the memories came flooding back.

 _Click_.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked being here, they had always been kind but it hadn’t been his home, not really. But it had been at the same time. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he barely remembered before. Only flashes of happy smiles and warm hugs. But no faces. Sure he had a few pictures but they just didn’t stick to his memories like they once had. And that killed him inside.

“Could you lean against the door? Face it and lean on it with your elbows and have them above your head,” said Steve quietly, obviously loath to interrupt his friend’s brooding.

The other man nodded mutely and did as he was told. Stripping off his heavy, grey overcoat, scarf and gloves, Bucky hopped up the steps and leaned against the door with his head bowed.

“Okay, can you bring your left leg back a little? Yeah, that’s great. Clap your hands? Great. Hold it there.”

 _Click_.

The wind chilled Bucky to the bone while he stood there and by the time Steve was done, his hands were numb and stuffing them back into his gloves was a blessing from above.

They continued like this throughout the day. Bucky would lead them through the city to various places he held dear. They went to his old school, the tailors in the east end of the city where Bucky had had his first job, the diner where he’d go when he couldn’t sleep, the park. They went everywhere and in each place he hold the artist the story behind each destination.

The park had been Bucky’s favourite. Steve sat him down on some of the large standing stones and photographed him there.

“Elbows on knees, hands hanging, yeah just like that. Now brood. Bu-uck, I said brooding not giggle.”

 _Click_.

“Okay, okay. I’m clam. Go.”

“Run a hand through your hair.”

 _Click_.

“Keep moving slowly into different positions that are comfortable for you.”

_Click. Click. Click._

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Steve said between pictures. “About your parents. I should have said earlier but, I guess I wasn’t expecting it so I didn’t really know what to say.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you weren’t to know. Although you finally levelled up enough to unlock my tragic backstory,” Bucky teased, sticking his tongue out.

Steve looked up at him from behind the camera, totally deadpan.

“Seriously, it’s fine; it was a long time ago now. Besides, I still have a family.” Bucky smiled and shook his head, thinking of Natasha. “What about you? I’ve shared, now it’s your turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Well, I grew up in the city with my mother, never knew my dad so he doesn’t count.But my mother was something else . . . an amazing woman. She was a nurse at the hospital but she – she died a few years back, she got really sick with flu in winter but then that turned into pneumonia and everything kind of went to shit. She had been pretty healthy despite her line of work because she usually worked in the infectious diseases ward but then something just went wrong. It was slow going then all at once, a bit like when you pick at the edge of a plaster, scraping it bit by bit before tugging it off all at once, you know?” said Steve and stood, stretching and letting the camera bump against his thin chest. “This was after _I_ was sick. Kidney cancer. That sucked. It’s the reason I’m so short too.”

Steve gave a humourless laugh, his breath streaming up in a smoky plume. Bucky didn’t know what to say, so he sat still on the rock, sensing that Steve had more to say. Despite the cold, he supressed the shivers that threatened to overcome him. He was only in his shirt sleeves and the wind was breezing over his bare skin, raising the hairs to attention. His friend sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I was only ten,” he murmured.

Steve sighed again and sent up another smoky plume. But then he smiled brightly at Bucky despite the sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Bucky replied weakly.

He knew it was a bullshit line but what else are you supposed to say?

“Well, it’s in the past,” he said, still smiling. “I’m better now. I’ll never be Mr Strong Man but hey, I’m still kicking.”

Bucky stood up from his rock, thoroughly chilled to the bone, and went over to his friend and pulled him into a tight hug. The camera dug awkwardly into his stomach but Steve was a beacon of warmth who hugged him back, just as tightly. They both knew the contact was necessary in that moment and Bucky curled himself completely around the smaller man, bending towards his head towards Steve’s own.

“You’re the most positive person I’ve ever met,” he mumbled into the blonde man’s hair.

Steve pulled back and smiled again, his eyes creasing sweetly, but he kept his arms around Bucky’s hips. Without meaning to the brunette had got his closeness and he was able to count the freckles on Steve’s long and extremely red nose. The sudden realisation caught him off guard and he felt all of himself heat up all of a sudden despite the bitter January cold.

After a moment they split and Steve bundled Bucky into his warm winter coat and then into the nearest coffeeshop. Thankfully it wasn’t either one of the chains that they worked at. It was the best cup of coffee Bucky had ever had. It was leaning towards too sweet but it as it slid into his belly it left him warm and contented and the mug sat perfectly in his hands to thaw his numb fingers. Tendrils of heat threaded through his body right through to his bones.

“So do you have enough pictures for ‘The Life of James Buchanan Barnes’?”

Steve smiled softly over the rim of his mug, face still flushed but Bucky wasn’t sure if it was from the cold.

“If I’m to get a complete review of your life I’ll have to come home with you for a few hours,” the blonde man told him.

How could he speak.so gently but be so bold at the same time. There was a dare in his hugs blue eyes and a smirk twisting over his lips. Bucky chuckled.

“”Sure, whatever you want, punk.”

“I want, I get . . . jerk.”

They both exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

***

“So this is the famous Steve Rogers I’ve heard so much about!” exclaimed Natasha when she found Bucky and Steve in the kitchen talking over bowls of soup.

The two men turned towards the redheaded woman and smiled.

“How’d you know it was me?” asked Steve, clearly puzzled.

“That one never shuts up about you, I’ve been tripping over post-it notes with literary quotes for weeks and Bucky doesn’t know any other blonde men scraping 5 foot 1. So call it an educated guess.”

Natasha grinned and stuck out a hand while Bucky ducked his head at his roommate casually outing him. To avoid them seeing his quickly reddening cheeks he sprung from his stool and ladled soup into a bowl for the newest member of their group. She took it appreciatively and gave him a wink, something he wasn’t sure _he_ entirely appreciated.

Silently he hung back and watched the two of them talk. It was like watching two old friends reconnect with one another. They moved so effortlessly from one topic to another, Bucky could almost hear the ‘click’ between them. Strange feelings twisted up from within him as he watched the two of them, heads bent towards each other, talking so easily. But he pushed the feelings away. Of course he was happy about them getting on. Why wouldn’t he?

“So,” he said eventually, pushing off the counter. “Where do want the pictures?”

Natasha looked around; her eyes were shiny with excitement. Steve had clearly filled her in on why he’d suddenly appeared in their kitchen.

“I’ve never been properly photographed, what are we going to do?” questioned the redhead, bouncing from her stool.

“How do you normally spend your evening?” Steve asked, placing his camera on the table.

“Bucky works away for his online English course, I lie on his bed and we listen to music,” cut in Nat before Bucky could even open his mouth.

“Well you do that and I’ll just observe and take a few pictures here and there,” he replied. “Actually, while you’re here, Natasha can you look over towards the microwave and I’ll get the first one of you now.”

Natasha turned her head and gazed at the microwave while Steve raised the camera to his eye, adjusted the lens slightly and made the snap. After that the trio moved into Bucky’s room. Bucky and Natasha took up their usual spots; tonight’s choice was a playlist of folk music from Zimbabwe. Steve sat on a spare seat next to the bookcase but more often than not he toured the room and took in every little aspect of Bucky’s life with curious eyes.

The brunette made a show of working or at least what he hoped would be a natural looking show. He was a mess. Each move made by the little blonde man was accounted for on Bucky’s radar. His presence was deafening. Despite his room being fairly tidy and reasonably organised, he was acutely aware of clothes overflowing his washing basket, of the clutter on his bookshelves and that he’d been putting off emptying the wastepaper basket at his side for three days now. The thing he was most aware of, however, was the abundance of coffee cups sitting on almost every surface that Bucky could spare. But there was nothing really to be done and Steve didn’t make comment, only looking, occasionally leafing through his books and taking pictures. 

Although perhaps there was an ever so slight ghost of a smile.

On his right Natasha lounged against his pillows as she always did and was humming softly with her eyes shut and her hands behind her head. It was as though Bucky was looking at her for the first time as he studied her face and saw that little white scar on her chin, the beauty mark on her cheek, her long lashes. He smiled gently at the peaceful look on his friend’s face.

 _Click_.

***

Days and weeks slipped by and their routine continued. That was until Steve’s manager made good on his threat and cut his hours and Steve quit. Thankfully he was able to find another job at the museum close by his art school and he was in the café . . . serving coffee. His shifts were never that busy; there were only ever two people in at a time seeing as their customers mostly consisted of little old ladies with perms that wanted cream teas and to boast about their grandchildren.

“They’re great tippers,” Steve had enthused the first time Bucky had dropped by on his lunch break. “I have resting nice face, they just want to talk to me. Having these big baby blues really helps sometimes; they just _love_ me.”

“It must be such a burden,” Bucky had replied, totally deadpan, as he had inspected the day’s drawing of an artic fox about to jump into the snow; it was more detailed than the previous sketches because he had more time. “I’m the opposite. What do they call it again?”

“Resting bitch face.”

“Yeah, that. That’s what I have.”

All in all their routine didn’t change all that much. They still saw each other every day only it was Steve coming to Bucky before _his_ shift. Bucky usually managed a lunch time or if not then he dropped by after his shift despite it being a little bit out of his way to go home.

But today he had managed a lunchtime. On the side of his cup was a cartoon of Steve dressed in tux with a speech bubble saying “Suit up!” above his head.

“What’s the occasion?” Bucky asked with a smile, admiring cartoon Steve’s slicked back hair and little smirk.

Real Steve slide an expensive looking envelope across the counter. Taking a quick gulp of his double shot caramel latte, Bucky picked it up and looked at his name printed on the front with curly font. He glanced at his friend who was trying, and failing, not to bounce with excitement. The paper he pulled out was thick and heavy and written in the same loopy font was:

_Dear Mister Barnes,_

_You are cordially invited to the attend the McIntosh School of Art’s Senior Year Exposition on the 28 th February. Please RSVP for yourself and your +1 before 20th February._

_Yours sincerely,_

_The Board_

Bucky looked up at Steve with a grin splitting his face.

“Oh my God! Stevie! It’s finally happening . . . This is incredible,” he cried, overcome with sudden pride and excitement.

The blonde man blushed right up to the tips of his ears.

“S’not that amazing,” he mumbled awkwardly. “They have it every year.”

“Yeah but they don’t get you every year Stevie,” Bucky countered with a wink, sending Steve a deeper shade of red which gave the taller man a feeling of satisfaction.

“Yeah, I guess . . . I thought you’d want to bring Natasha so I had them add a plus one,” said the blonde, in a not to subtle subject change.

He shifted off the counter and busied himself cleaning the coffee machine. As was the norm of a Tuesday afternoon the café was quiet and there wasn’t a biddy with a blue rinse to be seen anywhere. The weak sunshine filled the spacious room and bounced lazily off the shiny marble floor.

***

“You are **_NOT_** wearing that potato sack to the expo” Tony had snapped when he found out about the evening the week after Steve had given Bucky the invitation.

“But why not?! It’s the most expensive suit I have!” he had protested and mentally adding that it was in fact the _only_ suit he owned.

Tony had just rolled his eyes and insisted he’d take him downtown to pick out a suit.

What Bucky was wearing at that moment, however, was a suit that would eat up at least two months of pay checks. It did look good on him though; he couldn’t help but preen just a little in the full length mirror.

“See, now in a suit like this you’ll seduce your man friend in a heartbeat,” Tony told him lightly, bushing non-existent lint from Bucky’s shoulders.

“One: I can’t afford this no matter how nice it is, Stark and two: I am NOT trying to seduce him,” the younger man muttered, but his cheeks burned so that ruined his credibility.

“I thought as much,” Tony said smugly, leaning on Bucky’s shoulder.

Despite being a tall man, Bucky was ever so slightly shorter than Tony and that was something Stark liked to take advantage off. Especially when he knew he was right.

“Besides, don’t worry about it. I’m buying you it. No don’t be ridiculous Barnes, why would I give you a suit for free? No, no, you’ll be paying back in instalments. It’s all worked out and will be paid off by Christmas,” rattled off Tony, pulling a folded sheet from his back pocket and handing it to Bucky. “Also, stop trying to fool yourself. Woman talk and you know how much Natasha and Pepper do so enjoy their lunches. I believe their last one paella. Conclusion, I know all about your moony eyes for the little artist.

Bucky inwardly seethed. Of course Stark knew everything. Stark always knew _everything_. He took the payment plan anyway and stepped off the podium, careful to avoid being impaled by pins.

“This had better be worth it,” he growled.

To that Stark only laughed and clapped him on the shoulder before going to talk to the tailor at the front of the shop.

***

The big night swirled around in almost no time at all and when Bucky and Natasha arrived at the gallery they were met by men with trays of champagne and mini quiches. People milled around viewing the various pieces on display. Taking a flute each the pair edged into the busy room and as Bucky looked around he was glad that Tony had insisted on getting a new suit. The one at home truly was a potato sack compared to those being paraded around the gallery.

Natasha fit right in, however, with her floor length black number that was slit to the thigh and shiny curled hair.

Whenever Steve had talked about his art school, he’d never mentioned that it was fancy and Bucky had never paid much attention to the schools in the city so to see the expense of the expo was a surprise.

Each student’s exhibition took up a section of the gallery. They had had to choose a theme and create their final project around it. Steve was nowhere to be seen; his section had to be further back so the dolled up duo slowly began their way around the different exhibits. They murmured comments into one another’s ears about what they liked and disliked and they listened to the students talk about their project. Most spoke with confidence, gesturing boldly and pointing their audience to certain aspects they felt needed highlighted.

Bucky wasn’t sure how much he liked the project on bugs but one girl had chosen the city at night. It was a real show case of photographs, paintings, drawings and prints of different aspects of the city’s ever moving night life. It was his favourite of all the ones he had seen so far. He was almost jealous of the raw talent.

Eventually, Natasha and Bucky weaved their way towards the back where they assumed Steve would be.

Reaching the alcove they stopped dead.

The first thing that met them when they entered was a huge . . . well, Bucky didn’t know what to call it. It was the picture of him leaning against the orphanage door with her head bowed and fists clenched but there was Natasha sitting hunched at the bottom of the wide, stone banister, chin cupped in her hands and looking at the bottom of the steps where two watercolour children stood holding each other’s mittened hands as they looked up towards the door. One had a mess of brown hair and a red duffel coat and the other had long red hair and blue coat two sizes too big.

Bucky’s jaw hit the floor.

“When – What – How?” he stammered, looking towards his friend.

She glanced at him with huge, wide eyes.

“We went out a few days after you did . . .” she whispered; her eyes trailed around the alcove. “It’s us Buck. All of it is us.”

“What’s the name of the project?” Bucky asked, his eyes taking in the huge print once more and remembering that red duffel coat.

“’Strength’.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped over to Steve who had appeared at their side. He was dressed to the nines, he even had a red, velvet bowtie. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shiny and his blonde mop had been tamed but there was still a patch towards the back that stuck up stubbornly and when his teeth raked his bottom lip it did funny things to Bucky’s stomach. The delight at seeing them had quickly melted into worry and he looked imploringly at them.

“You’re not mad are you? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Of course not,” Nat said softly, eyes still travelling over the alcove. “Will you give us the tour?”

Relief flooded Steve’s features and he led them around the room. Each piece was some type of mixed media most with the photographs as their base. There were careful swirling line drawings highlighting Natasha’s features, watercolour birds sitting on Bucky’s shoulders and picture manipulations of the two of them surrounded by wolves. Sometimes they were on their own, sometimes they were together, sometimes they even had their little watercolour counterpart as a companion.

Steve talked but Bucky didn’t really listen despite being interested; he was too interested in each piece. There was so much to see. It was odd seeing himself hung up and hearing what people were saying about him and about Steve’s work.

He began to wander away from his friends to hover around each piece just a little longer. It was towards the back of the room that he spotted it; a collage of almost every single coffee cup quote Bucky had given Steve and in the middle a portrait of him done in fine gold lines.

“Want to know what it’s called?” came a voice from his elbow.

Bucky didn’t look around.

“What?”

“’When are you going to ask me out?’”

Wide eyed, he turned towards the blonde man at his side.

“You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, it’s actually called “Depth” because my tutor wouldn’t let me name it properly in case someone bought it,” mused Steve, hands clasped behind his back.

Bucky couldn’t help but admire his profile; the long curve of his nose and the slight twist to his lips as he smiled playfully.

“But I am serious. I thought I’d get a date the week after you gave me your number,” he teased. “Yet here we are.”

“So all this,” Bucky said, gesturing around, “is an elaborate pick up line?”

He threw his head back and laughed gleefully.

“Not quite. I genuinely wanted to honour the two of you and your strength. This one, however,” he said, now nodding towards the collage. “Now that is an elaborate pick up line.”

Bucky thought he was going to explode. Or melt. Or disintegrate. Or float off into space.

Or maybe everything all at once.

His whole body was flooded with heat and he knew his mouth was gaping like a goldfish but he was just trying to get his head around what he’s just heard.

“So is this stunned silence a yes or a no?”

“It’s a yes. A most definite yes.”

“We can do _anything_ but go for coffee.”

“We can do that.”


End file.
